It was clear pandemic boredom had really settled in for me when I began to scour the internet for anything and everything I could find that discussed the Bible's original cultural, linguistic, and historical context. But, I soon figured out that studying the Bible's original context wasn't just fascinating, it was extremely important to know in order to actually get to know and understand the Creator of all things. Sadly, at least within the churches I've gone to thus far (and I've gone to numerous different churches over the years), pastors rarely, if ever, really put things into context.
Without context, anyone can twist Scripture to say whatever the hell they want it to say. I've seen it happen within the walls of many churches and among many Bible study groups, and it really, really bothered me. I can't really explain it, but from the time I was a very little girl, I could just sense when a pastor was misusing God's Word, and it bothered me so much that I wouldn't shut up about it until my family promised to never take me there again. More often than not, my gut feelings were correct, and those churches were, in fact, preaching absolute dogshit all fifty-two Sundays of the year.
As I grew up, I began to notice the same feeling whenever a trusted friend or family member started misusing Scripture. At first, I wasn't sure what to do with this and just kept my mouth shut. But, like everyone who has ever survived their teen years, I eventually grew into an adult and realized just how utterly fucking stupid the average adult was. And, many of those adults were people I loved and cared about.
When I finally came to the realization that I was actually a legal adult capable of thinking maturely (while maintaining a very immature sense of self and humor, I'll add), I was no longer so shy about calling out other adults' bullshit when I heard it (One of the reasons why I deleted my social media accounts in the middle of the pandemic, was so I wouldn't roast my family members to oblivion for their abhorrently stupid political and religious views, and get myself disowned).
However, I hadn't yet learned how to call them out without rolling my eyes and blurting out, "Well, that's a ton of bullshit!" But, like all humans, I learned from such stupid mistakes, and decided to keep my mouth shut until I figured out how to call out people's blatant bullshit in a constructive way. Assuming there was, in fact, a constructive and polite way to call someone out for saying dumb shit like, "I won't wear a mask during the covid pandemic because God will protect me."
Instead, I turned inward. I spent the summer of 2020 praying constantly. For protection, courage, strength, health, and most of all, faith. It was a terrifying time for everyone everywhere. While my faith in God didn't spare me from any pain, sorrow, anger, bitterness, or fear, it at least gave me somewhere to vent my deepest frustrations. Many nights I fell asleep talking to God as I would to a close friend. While I never really felt His presence, I knew He was omnipresent, and therefore with me just as He'd been with people like Elijah and Enoch. Sure, unlike those biblical figures, I was no saint. I wasn't any more special or worthy of God's love than anyone or anything else. But, while I couldn't have a dialogue with God quite like so many biblical figures had in this life, I could still communicate with God, knowing He could communicate back with me whenever and however He pleased. Sometimes, His silence was communication.
Indeed, there are times when silence is the answer to a person's deepest hurts.
Yet, while God wasn't very loud, I still noticed subtle changes and events that seemed to be evidence that God was hearing my prayers. Sometimes, it was just a slight tugging at my heart to go this way or that. Sometimes, it was as simple as a Youtube video recommendation, or an article someone posted in a blog. Sometimes, it was more overt, like an interesting run-in with a stranger, or a wave of peace washing over me in the midst of a particularly scary situation, or a sudden move across the country (yes, in many ways, my move to Washington was a God thing).
Some may say that these were mere coincidences and/or tricks of the mind, and I will admit these signs were never really scientifically provable. But, as someone who has experienced many coincidences and mind tricks, these miniature acts of God were no mere coincidences or tricks. Unless big tech managed to microchip my thoughts, and every bird and person and particle of air was listening in on my silent conversations with God, there was no way in hell those events had a natural explanation.
Each event left me feeling a bit more secure in my faith. The more my faith was strengthened, the stronger and more at peace I felt. The stronger and more at peace I felt, the physically healthier I became. The physically healthier I became, the more I was willing to get out and about more. It was a beautiful cycle. One that, for once in my life, lifted me up more and more instead of tore me down until my physical health tanked, taking my mental and spiritual health with it.
This isn't to say that there weren't bumps in the road. As strong and confident as I was in my faith, I was still deeply anxious and upset over current events. I still relied on medication to fall asleep and keep my anxiety at bay. I still struggled to garner an appetite. I still grieved like I'd lost a loved one when I moved to Washington state. I still feared the worst whenever I heard that another loved one had been exposed to covid, and my heart still sank when their tests came back positive.
Yet, while it oftentimes seemed like the end of the world was imminent, I still clung to my faith through it all. Contrary to what I originally feared, I didn't return to Christ just because of a temporary period of tremendous joy. I returned to Him because I'd spent years deconstructing my faith by facing the hard questions head-on, without fear of consequences. Deconstructing my faith like that didn't feel very good. It was incredibly painful, frustrating, and scary at times, not just for me, but everyone around me who was aware of what I was going through. But, despite getting close to joining the Church of Satan a number of times, I pressed on. As a result, I came rushing back into the arms of a merciful, loving God, with a faith much stronger (and much different), than the one I grew up around.
I'd be damned if it wasn't worth it.
